Jump
by beesandbrews
Summary: Apologizing when you're wrong is hard as hell. Apologizing when you know you're right is even harder.  A/N: This story is a series of missing bits from the season eight episodes 'Clip Show' and 'Sacrifice'.


Dean stalked out of the Men of Letters bunker leaving tension crackling behind him and Sam's silent apologies floating on the air in his wake.

Castiel sighed and slumped into a chair at the conference table. There was no one to bear witness, so he was able to freely give in to his exhaustion. Despite what he had told Sam and Dean, he was far from all right. Crowley had not been gentle, and his forcible removal of the Angel Tablet had caused a considerable amount of damage. Damage that he can ill afford now that yet another crisis is looming.

He placed his hands against the polished surface and felt the memories of the trees felled to make the the table. Without realizing, he followed the memories back to their source. When he opened his eyes, he was standing in a cool and peaceful forest. It was a soothing spot and he allowed his consciousness to rest there as he contemplated his relationship with Dean. He cannot understand how someone who cared for him so deeply can simultaneously be so cold and hurtful.

It is a painful irony that once again it is Free Will at the root of their troubles. Dean had taught him that it was up to every individual; human, angel, or whatever else they might be, to make their own choices. But when he tried to exercise that right, use his best judgment, and follow the path that seemed the most clear, Dean won't respect his decisions.

Maybe Dean had good reason, Castiel admitted to himself as he followed a leaf-covered pathway through the trees and listened to the echo of long-ago birdsong. He certainly had misjudged what it would take to step into Father's shoes. Instead of bringing peace and order to Heaven and Earth as he'd intended, he'd been the deliverer of even more disruption and chaos. Getting people's attention with violent acts of wrath was easy. Controlling his temper once it was unleashed and becoming the merciful shepherd he aspired to be, that was far more difficult. He may have been his father's favored son, but to his eternal shame, he hadn't been a worthy successor to the Throne of Heaven.

Purgatory, such a contrast to the pacific forest glade in which he strolled, had seemed an appropriate punishment. In Purgatory he was able to face down the monsters he had unleashed on the Earth and exact retribution, shattering their souls and destroying them completely. If one of them had been quicker and faster and killed him, it would have been a just and fitting end. A worthy penance. It was one he was prepared to accept.

But nothing, not even accepting the consequences of his actions, was simple or straightforward.

If he had done as Dean wanted; taken his hand and allowed himself to be lifted out of the place that God himself had created to contain the most dangerous and unpredictable of his creations – a place that Castiel deemed himself to be imminently suited, given his crimes against man and angel both – there was no guarantee that Naomi wouldn't have gotten ahold of him.

Naomi was both resourceful and driven. If kidnapping him and making him her slave was what she deemed expedient and necessary, then it would have happened no matter where he was. But Dean didn't see it that way. All he saw was his own failure to protect someone he loved. He couldn't see the bigger picture. He couldn't understand the machinations of angelkind.

Castiel looked up into the branches of the long-dead forest and sighed again. Naomi had used him. She had turned him into a puppet. She had pulled his strings and made him mouth lies. She had made him kill brother angels. She had nearly made him kill Dean.

If it hadn't been for the Angel Tablet filling his mind with stark and sudden clarity and breaking the hold Naomi had over him, would he have obeyed? He had beat Dean within an inch of his life. That was a betrayal he would not soon live down; the sight of Dean's bloodied and battered face would live in his memory for the rest of his days.

It wasn't something he cared to contemplate. Castiel concentrated on the dappling of the forest floor and on the way the light danced as it filtered through the leaves. He pushed away the memory of Dean and his pain-filled eyes as he pleaded for his life. He conjured in its place a memory of happier times, the pair of them sitting in the car and doing nothing more than driving, and wondered how best to break the impasse that has once again grown between them.

He needed to find a way to get Dean to listen. Only then would he be able to explain that the Angel Tablet had spoken to him. It had begged him to be its protector until it could be returned safely to Heaven.

It was his choice to obey the tablet. It was another choice that Dean couldn't or wouldn't accept, because it meant that he was putting himself at risk for a cause that Dean didn't understand.

Somehow he needed to make Dean understand.

The trees around him counseled patience. But trees had very different priorities than humans or angels. Events in the present were hurtling towards their climax. He didn't have the luxury of time.

The bunker needed resupplying. Dean had mentioned a grocery run. Castiel smiled. Despite his incapacity, he would go out and get the things they needed. But more importantly, he would get the things Dean liked best. He knelt and picked up an acorn and then rose to look up at the tree tops. It was a human saying, but apropos. He thanked the trees for their wisdom and lifted his head, casting himself back into the present.

When Castiel rose from the table, despite his pain, he was smiling.

* * *

Sam checked the seat belt to make sure it was secure and then he braced against the door frame as Dean roared around a curve fast enough to lift the wheels from the pavement.

"Dean," he said emphatically. "Dude. You want to ease up on the gas? We're not gonna be able to help anybody if we're roadkill."

Dean glared. "As if," he muttered, stung at the implied criticism of his driving.

Sam braced for another S bend. "Fine, take your temper out on the car. It's not like it did anything to you." He glanced out the window, trying to decide if it would be better to be ejected from the car or take his chances belted in, if they went off the road and into the fields that bordered the rural highway.

Dean glared again, but he eased off the accelerator. Self-consciously, he patted the dashboard as if he was apologizing to the Impala. "What are you talking about, Sammy?"

Sam let out a relieved sigh. Ninety miles an hour on two lane frontage road wasn't exactly the best spot for a heart to heart. Especially when he felt as rough as he did. "You're pissed off at Cas, I get that," he said. "But did it occur to you that if Naomi wanted to get into his head, she would have done it no matter where he was? Purgatory. Here. She's powerful. It wouldn't have mattered."

Dean flattened his lips as he shook his head. "I don't buy that. Not for a minute. I could have protected him, stupid bastard."

"We didn't even know she was gunning for him," Sam pointed out. "She could have grabbed him any time she wanted." He gave Dean a sidelong glance. "Wait a minute. You're still pissed he stayed behind in Purgatory, aren't you."

The angry energy that surrounded Dean like a force-shield seemed to radiate even more intensely. "You've seen the place. Why would anybody want to stay there?"

The Impala left the roadway for a couple of seconds as it met with a bump in the asphalt. Sam gulped, shot Dean another sidelong glance, and then replied as calmly as he could, "You liked it well enough. You said it was pure."

Dean looked uncomfortable for a few seconds, like he was trying to choke down too big a bite of something rancid. "Yeah, well, that was different. I get a rush out of ganking monsters. Cas wanted to stick around because he was hoping something would gank him. Yeah, he screwed up, but he didn't belong there."

"So, wait," Sam said, confused by Dean's logic. "What's got you more pissed off; that he stayed behind or that Naomi saved him so she could use him?"

Dean didn't reply, at least not verbally. He floored the accelerator again down a long straightaway and Sam knew he'd driven a proverbial fist into the heart of his brother's pain.

Damn, it was twisted.

Despite the fact that Cas was like a million years old and had been one of God's soldiers long before he and Dean had crossed paths, when Dean had adopted him into their family, he had made protecting Cas his personal mission. Failure was not an option.

But Cas had defied Dean and stayed in Purgatory because he thought it was the right thing to do, even if doing the right thing would have probably gotten him killed.

_Oh. _A wave of nausea rode over Sam's stomach and he had to swallow hard to keep his meager lunch down. _Not so different from me and this trial. Because it's what I need to do and it's probably going to get me killed and Dean can't do a thing about it._

And that was the problem. Cas hadn't done what Dean wanted him to do. As a result, he'd been used. Dean blamed Cas for bringing this on himself, but he blamed himself more for not finding a way to prevent it in the first place. Just as he blamed himself for not being the one to take on the Demon Gate trials.

The trouble was, even though they kept fighting its corner, there really was no such thing as Free Will. Someone, not the angels and not the demons, was shoving them around a cosmic chessboard whether they liked it or not.

"Cas has been trying to clean up his mess ever since the god-thing," Sam said. "Purgatory probably seemed like a good call."

"I told him different." Dean flipped the radio on. A chorus of children was advocating 'Give peace a chance'. He scowled at the radio and flipped the dial, creating a crush of static and country music until finally Van Halen suggest they 'Jump'.

"He's an angel," Sam reminded, wondering if he could make a grab for the volume control without getting his hand slapped. He had the beginnings of a ringing headache and David Lee Roth's vocals weren't helping. "Their priorities aren't ours."

"You say one word about the big picture and I swear to God, Sammy, demon trials or no, I'm turning this car around and grounding you."

Sam shrugged. "Fine. I'm just saying. He's family and he's trying, Dean. Maybe you ought to cut him some slack."

Dean didn't say another word all the way to Saint Louis, but it was obvious that he was thinking hard.

* * *

The groceries had been left scattered on the counter at the convenience store. Castiel regretted that he hadn't been able to go back and get them, as well as stop some place else along the way for pie, before delivering them to the Men of Letters bunker. But once again, events had circumvented his plans. His heart was filled with cautious hope that finally he had found his true path to redemption. That by locking the angels away in Heaven, he could finally make amends for the damage he had caused. His only concern was that he would be locked away with his brethren without setting things right with Dean.

Now he had a chance. Cupids were generally the most affable of angels, sometimes too much so. It was easy to forget that they were as warrior-trained as any other member of a fighting garrison. The tools of their trade – the bows and arrows – in the wrong hands, they could wreck unimaginable havoc. Because of the risks, no Cupid worth the name would let his bow go without a fight. Retrieving the bow was just as dangerous a mission as killing the Nephilim.

If only his timing had been better.

Sam was not in a good place, that was obvious as he struggled to stand tall. But he was determined and sure of himself. Despite his evident pain, his resolve was absolute to see his quest through. The Gates of Hell would be closed. It was up to him to deal with the Gates of Heaven.

Even though Dean didn't want to leave Sam, it was plain that he'd had enough of angels as well as demons, and this was an opportunity too good to pass up. Something in his face changed, perhaps it was resolution hardening, Castiel couldn't tell. But Dean agreed to come and that was what was important. Even if things were broken between them, it meant something that Dean still had his back.

* * *

Dean moved away from Castiel as soon as they arrived in … wherever the hell they were. He looked around at the quiet town going about its business and wondered what he was doing there when Sammy was going through hell with only Crowley for company.

Sure, slamming the Gates of Heaven sounded pretty damn good, especially if it meant locking up douche-bags like that Naomi chick, but something about the whole set up made his alarm bells ring and his gut feel sour. Maybe it was history repeating on them. Despite his good intentions, Cas's grand plans had a way of blowing up spectacularly, and this plan was particularly hinky. Cas had jumped feet first into these so-called Angel Trials just on Metatron's say so and that didn't sit right with him one bit.

Maybe it was because he'd used up all of his faith on the idea that demons could be cured, or maybe he was just flat out cynical, but to him that seemed like a really stupid idea. He took another look around the street and didn't see anything out of the ordinary. There wasn't a single overgrown baby-man in sight. "So where's this Cupid at?" Dean asked.

Castiel shook his head. "Metatron's information wasn't very detailed. He just said that a Cupid would be here sometime today and that his target would be the bartender of that establishment there."

Dean shrugged. There were worse places to kill time than a bar. And if Cas was right, and he managed to pull off his quest and shut the Pearly Gates, then there were a few things he wanted to get off his chest before that happened. "Come on, Cas, I'll buy you a beer. If the bartender's the target, then we should keep a close eye on him."

He put his hand on Castiel's shoulder. Cas smiled back at him uncertainly. Dean sighed. It annoyed him, but Sammy was right. Cas was family. Cas was trying to clean up his mess. That counted for something.

/end


End file.
